


Christmas in Hell

by duplicity



Series: The Adventures of Harry and Mr. Tom [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Child Harry Potter, Christmas, Demon Voldemort, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Mentor Voldemort (Harry Potter), Parenthood, death eaters trying to choose presents for harry, harry as the world's most adorable bean, that won't result in voldemort blasting them into a pile of ash, voldemort as the world's best adoptive dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity
Summary: Harry and Mr. Tom experience their first Christmas holiday together. That said Christmas takes place in the underworld is but a minor,minordetail.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: The Adventures of Harry and Mr. Tom [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785181
Comments: 51
Kudos: 255





	Christmas in Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the distractions 💬 discord server](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+distractions+%F0%9F%92%AC+discord+server).



> i am, as they say, fashionably late. merry christmas to all who celebrate, and a good day to those who don't! this was,,, hastily edited and written over the course of the past day and a half. love that for me!
> 
> for a bit of context: this part, of course, takes place during/around christmas, which means it takes place months after the current section that's being written (part 6: building a home).

It started with a calendar.

Harry asked for little, so when he did make a request, Voldemort made it a priority to ensure the request was fulfilled to his own demanding standards of quality.

Harry's request for a calendar, then, was given a good deal of consideration. There needed to be plenty of space on the calendar for Harry to write and draw as he wished, and then there was the question of what illustrations Harry would like to see attached to each month.

From experience, Voldemort knew that asking Harry any questions about these details would lead to more trouble and discomfort for the both of them; while Harry had gotten better at asking for the things he wanted or needed, Voldemort did not want to discourage Harry's requests by pressing for more information. Once Harry was comfortable with asking to begin with, then Voldemort would start to ply Harry with questions, but for now he would do his best to anticipate the boy's needs.

In the end, Voldemort settled for a large, glossy calendar with a colourful dragon image attached to each month of the year. Not once did it occur to him to wonder why, exactly, a seven-year-old human child had a need for a calendar. If he had paused to think upon this fact, he might have debated trivial ideas such as the concept of work days versus weekends, the importance of the passing seasons, or even the simple desire to know which month had arrived upon them.

As it was, Voldemort assumed that Harry, like any other mature, responsible being, required a place to organize his schedule—never mind that Harry, as a _seven-year-old boy,_ possessed a schedule that consisted purely of regular meals taken in the dining room, drawing pictures of the people and objects around him, taking Belligerent on 'walks' throughout the manor, and pestering his guardian's minions with endless questions about the finer points of Hell.

Therefore when the month of December arrived, the appearance of extraneous drawings all over the latter half of the calendar month was dismissed by Voldemort as the endearing, impulsive decision of a child too young to know better.

Harry was cheerful, after all, bouncing around the manor in the carefree, giddy way he had when he thought no one was watching him. Voldemort took pride in his child's joy and sought to encourage it when he could, even if that meant letting undesirables into his abode.

"If you insist upon recruiting my husband to help you childproof _your_ home," Narcissa retorted with a haughty look, "then I will insist upon my right to see him when I wish." Two knitting needles were working feverishly at a long green... object... that was hovering in front of her. Voldemort was unsure what it was supposed to be, and he refused to admit ignorance by asking.

"Your husband," Voldemort said pointedly, "is currently located two floors up and two dozen rooms to the east." Then he dropped his gaze to where Harry was snoozing peacefully on the couch between them. Harry's head was pillowed on Voldemort's thigh, but his small feet were burrowed underneath Narcissa's heavy dress robes. Both demons were currently in their human forms so as not to spook Harry. "I fail to see the connection between your action and your words," he added, in case his implication had not been clear.

"The boy's excited," Narcissa said, ignoring him. To punctuate her statement, she gave Harry's leg a gentle pat. "I do wish you'd let me introduce him to Draco."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. If she woke Harry up, he would not be as generous as he had been with her previous snarky comment. "Harry is fine with me. I will not have him sullied by your son's uncouth behaviour."

"Normally, I would take offense to this, but I know it is only your way of being absurdly protective, so I will let it pass. For now," she amended. "If you speak such words in front of my son, you will regret it."

Voldemort scowled, then repressed the scowl, then gestured with his hand, twisting his fingers so that his magic swirled to life, lifting Harry up into the air just enough for Voldemort to take the boy into his arms. Harry's snoozing form was draped over his shoulder, out of Narcissa's insubordinate grasp. Voldemort took a moment to glare at her, then went for the door.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he liked to loom over his guardian. Voldemort did not require sleep, but he did feign it occasionally for the boy's benefit. Harry liked to be first to wake, liked to sit patiently by Voldemort's side, his green eyes wide and luminous despite the early hour—and make no mistake, it was always an early hour when Harry woke, the boy was like a bird in miniature sometimes—and the lack of light in the room.

"Good morning," Harry said, once he had assessed Voldemort's consciousness and decided it was safe to speak.

"Good morning," Voldemort responded in kind. He was in his human form still, unwilling to let the illusion go even while he feigned sleep.

Harry beamed, a smile flickering across his face like a tiny ray of sunlight had touched him there, but his hands picked nervously at the bedding, twisting into the fabric. Was something the matter? Voldemort considered asking, but at this moment, there was nothing he could think of that had caused such a reaction. Perhaps it was one of those days where Harry required more attention, more attentive handling.

"Do you have work today?" Harry asked as Voldemort sat up and raised a hand to pet his child's unruly hair. As expected, Harry flushed at the touch, squirming slightly with indecision—his desire to lean into the affection battling with his ingrained aversion to physical contact.

"No," Voldemort lied. There were no tasks more important than minding Harry. The plans he'd made for today would simply have to wait. "I have to send a few letters, but then we may spend the day together."

"Oh." Harry's nose scrunched up. "Okay."

The lack of enthusiasm sent a jolt of confusion through him. It was unlike Harry to respond in such a monotone. Harry loved it when they got to spend time together. "Was there anything you wanted us to do?" Voldemort asked, hopeful that this would prompt a positive reaction. "We could read a book together, if you like."

"Okay," Harry repeated. He rubbed at his forearm a few times. "If you're sure you're not too busy."

Ah, now there was a sign Voldemort recognized, a problem he knew how to fix. He straightened, gathering Harry's small shoulders into his hands, and adopted a serious expression so his child understood the importance of what he was about to say.

"I am never too busy to take care of you," Voldemort promised. "You are very important to me, and your safety and comfort are my priority."

Harry appeared to be struggling for words. He frowned, then scrunched his brows together, then flung himself forwards, burrowing his face into Voldemort's neck.

Those words ignited a warm glow that spread throughout Voldemort's chest. He held Harry close for a moment, wondering about what it meant to raise a child, to be a parent, to care for a person other than himself. Harry had stumbled into his life, yes, but now that he was here, Voldemort could not imagine it any other way.

* * *

"Finished," Narcissa said, an emerald strip of knitted material dangling from her outstretched hands. "What do you think?"

Voldemort glanced over. "Passable."

"Passable, he says," Narcissa scoffed. "I suppose by your standards, I shall consider my efforts a success. Harry looks lovely in green, regardless."

The scarf—was it a scarf?—folded itself in midair and vanished with a soft pop. That was for Harry? For what reason? Harry could have a million emerald scarves if he so desired, there was no need for Narcissa to go to such absurd lengths to produce one herself.

Narcissa eyed him with ill-disguised scrutiny. "I'm sure whatever you have chosen will delight him, my lord."

Voldemort regretted not posing an inquiry about the scarf sooner. "Mhmm," he said. "Will you be leaving soon?"

Her gaze sharpened further, her lips pursing in an expression of extreme contemplation. "My lord," she began, then paused as a frown curled the corners of her mouth downwards.

Where was Lucius? Perhaps if Lucius was permitted to abandon his task of childproofing the manor—yes, Voldemort could now admit that this was what was happening—he would take his annoying wife with him.

"My lord," she repeated, this time with more confidence, "have you... have you yet to procure a Christmas gift for Harry?"

Voldemort stared at her, uncomprehending. But then, just like that, everything fell into place. Harry's odd behaviour, the numbers doodled on the calendar, Narcissa's sudden obsession with knitting. Everything made wonderful, horrible sense.

"Such matters cannot be rushed," Voldemort said smoothly. "Harry deserves only the best."

"You _forgot."_

"I did _not."_

Voldemort would not accept insults in his own home. They were _demons._ Living in _hell._ Christmas was not an occasion he gave any measure of thought to.

Halloween, on the other hand, had been an enjoyable, if chaotic and slightly worrisome, occasion. Harry had asked repeatedly after Voldemort’s natural form, stating that it was suitable for the holiday occasion, but Voldemort had evaded the subject by plying his child with chocolate and costumes. 

Regardless of that incident, Voldemort understood the importance of giving Harry a childhood that was as close to normal as possible. Unfortunately, Christmas did not figure into his perception of that. This, clearly, had been a mistake on his part.

Christmas was important to Harry, which meant a level of expectation existed for Voldemort to give the holiday just as much consideration.

Voldemort stood and examined the room around them, trying to recall what a proper Christmas holiday required. Presents. A tree. Decorations of some kind. And—

"Saint Nicholas," Narcissa interjected, which was how Voldemort realized he'd been muttering aloud. "The boy needs a stocking, my lord."

Irritation flooded him. "Clear my schedule," Voldemort snapped at her. It did not matter to him, at this moment, that she was not technically his employee, but rather the wife of the employee he had ordered to childproof his house for him. "And tell Barty to take charge until further notice."

Narcissa clucked her tongue at him. "I can hardly guess who will be more moved by this generous proclamation: your most devoted Barty, out of sheer ecstasy at being acknowledged, or my darling sister with her unbridled fury, which we will surely feel from any distance despite the enormity of your manor."

Voldemort shot her a venomous glare to let her know that her sarcasm was unwelcome. It was a glare that could melt steel if so wished it to. His aura of magic flared, oozing darkness into existence around them. It was only the two of them here, so he was in his natural form, horns and wings visible.

Narcissa stiffened, paling only slightly. "My assistance, of course, is always offered to you," she demurred.

Voldemort flicked a clawed finger at the door, causing it to slam open, and did not wait to see if she took the hint. Instead, he returned his attention to the barren living room. The decor needed to change, and it needed to change before Harry re-entered the room.

The door clicked shut, signalling that he was now alone.

Voldemort lifted a hand and began the essential process of injecting holiday cheer into every corner of the house. Tinsel and evergreen, silver and strands of popcorn. One large stocking hanging from the mantelpiece.

Once the living room was suitably outfitted for Christmas, Voldemort checked the time. They were late for dinner by approximately a quarter of an hour, but Harry wouldn't notice such a mistake, distracted as he was by the new art project he was working on. Harry was, obviously, a very clever child, and he possessed great focus and dedication when absorbed with an engaging task.

Unfortunately, Harry would likely expect Narcissa to join them for dinner. In fact, Harry had been the one to insist upon her visit, which was why Voldemort had been saddled with her company to begin with. Hopefully, the Christmas decorations would distract Harry from remembering his request.

Voldemort would decorate the dining room next, and then he would fetch Harry for dinner. They would eat, and then he would show Harry the decorations, give Harry a small, seemingly-important task to do, and leave to finish decorating the rest of the house.

No doubt Harry would be thrilled to see all of the changes to the living room—that alone would keep him occupied for a decent amount of time, enough time for Voldemort to ensure that their first Christmas together was perfect.

* * *

Harry was rightfully dazzled by all the Christmas decorations. He also agreed to wait while Voldemort went off to handle an 'important task', much to Voldemort's relief.

Then Harry asked how long said task would take, and if he could keep his drawing materials with him in the living room, to which Voldemort agreed to, even going as far to summon the items for Harry himself. The act of drawing would keep his boy occupied while Voldemort saw to the decor of their respective bedrooms.

"Don't look!" Harry said loudly, twisting his hands together. "It's not done yet!"

"I won't." The promise was easily delivered and easily kept; Harry's belongings appeared in his hands, and Voldemort deposited all the items into Harry's smaller hands before departing with a further promise to return soon.

When Voldemort did return, it was to Harry jumping at the sound of the door opening and curving his body protectively over the canvas laid out on the coffee table. Voldemort raised a hand to cover his eyes. He now had his suspicions as to what had inspired this particular special art project.

"I promised not to look," Voldemort said, straight faced.

Harry made a flustered noise. "One moment, please."

There was the sound of paper rustling and Harry scolding Bell for trying to hop up onto the table. Then the room quieted, and Harry spoke once again. "Okay, you can look now."

Voldemort lowered his hand. His child was the epitome of innocence, seated cross-legged on the couch with Bell curled up next to him, tail wagging like they were an over-excited golden retriever rather than a dragon. The two of them—boy and dragon—made for a fine pair.

"Will I ever get to see?" Voldemort asked with an affected tone of disappointment.

"You'll see soon," Harry promised quickly, bouncing to his feet in his haste to reassure. "Don't worry!"

Voldemort was not unfamiliar with Harry's desire to keep his drawings a secret. Normally, he was content to let Harry unveil his art at leisure, but in this case, Harry's antics only brought a smile to his face.

Harry was a quiet, reserved little boy; this fact made more notable considering his age, which was the age at which young children were known for being rambunctious and mildly disobedient. To tease out a positive reaction from Harry was a reward on its own. 

Voldemort stepped over to the couch and sat down, patting the space next to him. Harry eyed the space for a moment, then shuffled closer, bumping his skinny knees against Voldemort’s leg.

"Are you excited for Christmas?" Harry asked, his large eyes fixed upon Voldemort's face. The question was delivered in a very serious manner; it was obvious that Harry expected an equally serious answer.

It would be easy to agree and express an abundance of enthusiasm, but it would not be wholly honest, and he had sworn to be honest.

"Christmas is not a holiday that I celebrate," he replied slowly. "But I am happy to share this holiday with you because it is important to you."

Harry frowned. "You don't celebrate Christmas?" he asked. "What about presents? And decorating the tree?"

"Of course you will have presents." Voldemort grew unsettled in the face of Harry's earnest concern. Had he forgotten something? "Did you want to decorate the tree?" To Harry, perhaps the act of decorating was as vital as having the decorations there to begin with. "We could do that together, if you wished." With a wave of magic, Voldemort banished all the ornaments off of the tree.

"Um." Harry fidgeted in place. His left arm stretched backwards, reaching for Belligerent. His hand met with the dragon's head and stroked down their spiny neck. Belligerent crept closer, snorting softly and rubbing their head against Harry's forearm. "Okay. If you want."

"I would very much like to." Voldemort held out a hand, which Harry took, and guided them over to the tree.

It would be difficult for them to work through the amount of decisions required to decorate the entire tree, but Voldemort had hope that it would work out. They would start with the lights and go from there. By the time they got to the ornaments, it would be a simple matter of handing them off to Harry one at a time for placing on the tree.

As they worked, Harry's mood improved, and very soon he was cheerful once more, babbling excitedly about the different ornaments he wanted to see on the tree. Voldemort conjured every ornament Harry described, and soon all the branches were full.

A large, shiny plastic version of Bell was placed on the top of the Christmas tree, much to the dragon's annoyance. Bell made multiple attempts to knock their doppelganger to the floor, but relented when Harry pleaded, with big round eyes that Voldemort suspected of being less than strictly innocent, for them to stop.

When it was all done, the hour was late. Harry was yawning widely, stretching his arms out. Voldemort watched the motion with a mix of concern and affection, struck by how small Harry was. The excuse of the holiday season would have to be used to convince Harry to eat more.

"Can we—can we do a story? Before bed?" Harry asked nervously. "Or is it too late?"

"We _may_ read a story," Voldemort corrected. "And my answer is yes. Especially," he added as the thought occurred to him, "because it is almost Christmas."

Harry grinned, the warm glow of happiness brightening his features. "Narcissa said we could make cookies tomorrow! She said she already made some with Draco—"

Of course she had. Voldemort should have thought to ban the woman from even mentioning her son while in Harry's presence. Didn't the woman have her own child to mind? Why did she insist on bothering his?

Harry chattered about baking and gingerbread houses all the way to the bedroom. He washed for bed quickly, then settled into bed, eager for his bedtime story. Voldemort was still in a less-than-pleasant mood due to Narcissa's meddling, but the sight of Harry's patient, excited face did wonders to dispel his vexation.

While they read, Harry dropped tentative hints for them to read a second story, which Voldemort ignored for the sake of Harry's good health. Eventually, after a valiant struggle to remain awake and upright, Harry fell asleep. Voldemort tugged the blankets over Harry's shoulders, vanished the book they had been reading from, and stood up.

To his left was the large calendar Harry had originally requested. There were doodles all over the month of December—mostly dragons and reindeer with absurdly large antlers. Voldemort would need to procure a book on reindeer so Harry could have reference images to look at while he drew.

On the table underneath the calendar was Harry's special Christmas drawing. Not for the first time that evening, Voldemort was sorely tempted to peek, to glimpse the artwork Harry had laboured so carefully over for the past two weeks, but he had made a promise. He would stifle his curiosity until the correct day arrived.

In the meantime, he had his own gifts to prepare.

* * *

On Christmas morning, Harry 'woke' Voldemort by nudging him awake. Coming from Harry, this was the equivalent of jumping up and down on the bed while shrieking. The boy was practically vibrating with excitement while he waited for Voldemort to shift into an upright position.

"Merry Christmas!" Harry declared loudly, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "Happy holidays!"

Voldemort smiled, noting that Harry was still wearing pyjamas and had also donned mismatched socks in his haste to prepare for the morning. "Merry Christmas."

Harry hopped from foot to foot while he waited for Voldemort to get ready for the day. Admittedly, Voldemort was eager to see what Harry had drawn, and he was also eager for an excuse to give Harry presents that would normally be rejected or met with hesitation, but watching Harry impatiently dance around in his bedroom while dressed in dragon-patterned pyjamas was a moment to be savoured.

So Voldemort took his time in preparing for the day, dressing with care, pretending he did not notice the way Harry tracked his every movement with steadily rising impatience.

Harry was not one to make demands, but Voldemort's delay was enough to prompt him to speak. "You're taking too long," Harry complained. "You don't normally take this long."

Voldemort's lips twitched with mirth. "Is that so? My apologies, then." A burst of magic finished the job, leaving him fully-dressed in his usual suit.

Harry's eyes narrowed at that. Voldemort waited to see if Harry would berate him, but apparently even teasing could not put a damper on his boy's high spirits. "Come on," Harry said as he resumed his up-and-down bouncing. "Come on!" Then Harry stuck his hand out and gave it a shake.

The gesture was unexpected; Harry rarely initiated contact on his own. Today, it seemed, would be full of more surprises than Voldemort had anticipated. He took Harry's hand in his own and allowed Harry to drag him towards the living room, which was where the Christmas tree awaited them.

Underneath the tree was a large pile of presents, most of which were from him to Harry. There were also offerings from his minions, expensive trinkets and shiny gifts meant to win Harry's affections. The way to Harry's heart was simpler than the way to Voldemort's, a fact that many had taken advantage of.

Voldemort would need to teach Harry to be careful with that kind of behaviour. It would not do for Harry's kind heart to be manipulated.

One present was beautifully styled and stood out from the rest. Narcissa's emerald scarf was wrapped in bright silver paper and tied with sparkling blue and silver ribbons. Voldemort could admit her wrapping skills were impeccable.

"May I open them?" Harry asked loudly, puffing his chest up in a way that made Voldemort think that Harry had chosen his words with care—namely, the use of 'may' rather than 'can'.

"You may," Voldemort responded.

As soon as he'd been given permission, Harry leapt towards the pile, sifting through the presents.

Harry had examined most of the packages very carefully over the past few days, giving some of them a gentle shake to test their contents. Other gifts he had lifted up and down, gauging their weights. But before all of that, even, Harry had sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace and simply _stared,_ his eyes wide and lips slightly parted in an expression of disbelief.

Voldemort knew that Harry had been mistreated by his relatives on Earth. He was also sure that Harry had never received this many gifts at once before. The surprise of so many gifts had even overshadowed the event of Santa Claus' visit.

Harry had spoken timidly about never having a stocking prior to this year. He'd mentioned that his nasty cousin had made fun of him for never getting anything, even coal. It was entirely possible that Harry had little expectation for being labelled as a good child for Christmas.

Well, this year the stocking was there, and it was full, and Voldemort had prohibited any of his minions from speaking on the subject of Saint Nicholas while in Harry's presence. If they said anything about it, they would undoubtedly shatter the illusion, and Voldemort would not allow Harry's childhood to be ruined by incompetence.

"Are those all your extra gifts?" Voldemort asked, once Harry had finished folding up all the extra wrapping paper into a neat pile. Gold, silver, red, and green were the dominant colours. Voldemort glanced over the name tags Harry had also gathered into a small pile, comparing the names to the list of employees he had stored in his head. "I don't see one from Rosier."

"Who's that?" Harry asked absently, reaching for Narcissa's package.

Voldemort frowned and made a note to speak with Rosier at a later date to punish him for his insolence. "No one important."

Harry unwrapped the scarf that Narcissa had knitted, and lifted it into the air so he could examine it. "Look! Wow! It's so green."

"She knitted it for you," Voldemort added grudgingly.

Harry looped it three times around his neck and gave the fabric a stroke. "It's very soft," he declared. Then he turned to Bell, who had been observing the proceedings with a solemn expression. Harry's brows pulled together, and then he got up and walked over to the couch where Voldemort was seated.

"Is something the matter?"

Harry hopped onto the couch and bent his head in, a troubled look settling on his face. "None of them got Bell any presents," Harry whispered. "Do you think they forgot?"

Voldemort did not have the heart to tell Harry that, in all likelihood, his pet was not considered important enough to warrant a separate gift. "The tree was too full," Voldemort said calmly. "I'll have the rest delivered later on." He would send a note off to someone, and then if the rest knew what was good for them, they would cobble something together.

"Oh, okay!" Harry's face brightened. "Bell can share with me for now." He scrambled off the couch and picked up one of the toy snakes. "Here, you can play with Alisha," Harry offered, draping the length of the snake around Bell's neck. Bell made a snuffling sound and rolled onto their back, twisting so that the snake tangled around their body.

The snake named Alisha looked exactly the same as at least two other snakes. How Harry could tell the difference between them, Voldemort had no idea.

"We should pause for now and have breakfast," Voldemort interjected. Though they had woken early, it was now past the usual time they set aside for their morning meal. Voldemort had no daily routine set for himself, but Harry needed to experience a normal human life, and that life included regular meals.

"No, wait!" Harry protested, scrambling to his feet once more. "Not yet!"

"You have already opened dozens of presents. The rest can surely wait until after you've eaten. Besides," Voldemort added when Harry seemed prepared to argue, "you wouldn't want to miss your special Christmas breakfast, would you?"

"...No."

Voldemort stood up and smoothed his jacket. "So we will return later and open the rest of your presents then."

"And your present!" Harry added. He walked over and shot Voldemort an expectant look.

"I am _very_ excited for my present," Voldemort agreed. When he offered his hand, Harry took it without hesitation, and they walked out of the living room together.

If Voldemort sent a burst of magic behind them to alter some of the remaining presents so that they said ‘To: Belligerent’, then he was the only one who would know.

* * *

Breakfast consisted of chocolate chip pancakes with fresh fruit as toppings. Harry even ate seconds, much to Voldemort's delight. Bell inhaled the remaining pancakes, nearly scorching the table with their excited snorts of fire.

"I'm pleased you ate extra food at breakfast today," Voldemort said as they re-entered the living room. "As you grow older, you will grow bigger, and your body will require extra nutrition." Truthfully, Harry required more calories _now,_ but Voldemort hoped that the goal of growing bigger would encourage Harry to eat more.

"It was yummy," Harry said. He swung their joined hands back and forth. "I liked the pancakes."

"We'll have them more often," Voldemort promised indulgently. Harry so rarely expressed a preference for anything. Voldemort would seize the advantage when he could, even if it meant they had to eat chocolate chip pancakes every week for the rest of eternity.

"That's okay. We can do that later!" Harry said hastily. "Do you want to open _your_ present?" Harry dropped to his knees and retrieved a brightly-wrapped rectangle. The gift was wrapped in silver, just like Narcissa's; it was clear who had helped Harry with the wrapping process.

Harry deposited his gift into Voldemort's waiting hands. There was a tag on the top with Harry's handwriting on it, the 'to' and 'from' sections filled in with the names 'Mr. Tom' and 'Harry'.

Voldemort eyed the couch, then decided they would move to the rug so they could open the present together. Harry made a vague noise of surprise when they moved to sit on the floor in front of the fireplace.

The present in his hands was heavier than he had expected it to be. Voldemort fingered the ribbon for a brief second, then gazed over at his small companion. "You are a good child,” Voldemort said clearly. "A good child who deserves the best that Christmas has to offer."

Harry ducked his head, but Voldemort was not having it. He reached over to touch Harry's knee. 

"And even if Saint Nicholas missed this house, which he did not, you have received many presents from others who also believe that you are a good child worthy of presents."

Harry said nothing, but his smaller hand moved to settle on top of Voldemort's larger one. They sat there while the fire cracked next to them, until Voldemort deemed it suitable to break the silence by at last opening Harry’s precious gift to him.

Slowly, Voldemort undid the ribbons and the wrapping paper. The package inside was covered in yet another layer of material: sheer white tissue paper. That was also removed, revealing the gift that Harry had painstakingly gone out of his way to hide.

It was a drawing, which was expected, and it was framed, which was likely Narcissa's doing. The drawing was of him, Harry, and Belligerent, which was _also_ expected. What was _unexpected_ was that Harry had drawn him not in human form, but in what he could only assume was his demon form.

There were horns and wings and even a vague attempt at a skeleton. So many little details that Harry must have pestered out of the demons who frequented the manor. Voldemort could not look away.

"Do you like it?" came Harry's timid voice in his ear.

"It is perfect," Voldemort said automatically. Then he blinked, his vision for once requiring deliberate focus as he looked over the drawing again, taking in the masterpiece that Harry must have spent hours working on. "Absolutely perfect," he added, this time turning so he could face Harry while he spoke. "You did extremely well with the details. It is a beautiful gift."

Harry flushed at the praise. "I worked really long on the wings!" he exclaimed, gesturing. "They're my favourite part."

"The wings are highly impressive," Voldemort agreed, "but then again, there are so many wonderful parts to this image that I find it difficult to decide what I like best."

Harry smiled wider, bright enough to blind the sun. If they had been sitting on the couch, Harry would have been shaking the couch cushions in his excitement.

They sat there for a moment more. Voldemort's attention was drawn back to Harry's artwork. "You drew me differently," Voldemort commented. To Harry's resulting confused expression, he added, "You did not draw me like this." He gestured to his current form. His _human_ form.

"Oh," Harry said. "But you look like this, don't you?" The question had a crestfallen tone to it that made Voldemort feel immediately guilty for what he'd said.

"I do," he said reassuringly. "I was only wondering why you chose to draw me this way since I spend most of my time like this." Most of his time that was spent with Harry, at any rate.

"Mrs. Malfoy told me that you all have wings and horns. So—so I asked her some questions, and she let me look at _her_ wings—" Harry broke off, sounding nervous. "Was that okay? Should I not have done that? Mrs. Malfoy also helped me keep you busy so I could have time to work on it."

"You did nothing wrong," Voldemort said firmly, but inwardly he was still... confused. He set Harry's drawing down onto his lap and reached for Harry's hands. "What I do not want is for you to scare yourself unnecessarily. I will have to speak to Narcissa about shifting forms in your presence—"

"It's not scary?"

Voldemort paused. "What do you mean, Harry?"

"It's not scary when you change. It's cool!" Harry said earnestly. "It's magic!"

Voldemort did not know what to make of this information. It was illogical that his natural form—a form that made adult humans tremble with all-consuming terror—did not frighten this small human child. Not only that, but it would appear that _none_ of the demons frightened Harry.

"Magic is... cool," Voldemort agreed distantly. He released Harry's hands and gave his arm a pat. "You did an excellent job with your gift."

Harry nodded once, then bit down on his lower lip. "Can I—I mean, may I have a hug? Because it's Christmas?" Harry added quickly.

They hugged, holding on for longer than was typical for them to do. Right now, Harry was small and fragile in his arms—but Harry would not be this size forever. Someday, Harry would be older and wiser, and he would hopefully look back on their first Christmas together with tenderness and warmth.

"Let us open the rest of your gifts," Voldemort said softly, withdrawing enough to look Harry in the eyes. Suddenly, the forty or so gifts that Voldemort had put under the tree for Harry no longer seemed like enough. He would have to sneak more presents in, using Belligerent's separate pile as an excuse. "And then we shall hang your artwork above the fireplace."

"Okay," Harry said happily. He shifted to look at the remaining presents under the tree. The large, large pile of remaining presents. "Some of those are for Bell, right?" Harry asked, his voice filled with doubt. "They're not all for me?"

How to answer in a way that would not upset Harry? If Harry thought he was being given too many things, he would reject them. "Some of these presents are for Bell," Voldemort said, which was now true. "Do not worry." 

Once all the gifts were open, it would be too late for Harry to protest. All of Harry's new belongings would be lost among the piles of dragons and snakes, the various gifts indistinguishable from each other. And if Voldemort conjured _more_ presents while Harry was distracted with unwrapping, it was perfectly justified behaviour.

"Okay," Harry said again. He slid off the couch and started picking up boxes. Belligerent trotted over to join him, snapping at the ribbons with their pointy teeth.

Voldemort watched them both with fondness and thought that while he did not celebrate Christmas, he could enjoy the day that was Harry-and-Christmas combined. Today he had learned that Harry was not afraid of him, not in any form, and that was a Christmas present all on its own.

  
  
  
**END.**   
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> here is a blooper reel that occurred during my livewrite of this story:
>
>> **narcissa:** your child is excited for [unintelligible noises]  
>  **calendar:** i have drawings all over the latter half of the month of december  
>  **harry:** seven years old and only thinks about making his adoptive dad happy  
>  **voldemort, oblivious to all this:** [smooth brain]
>
>> **narcissa:** [hands draco off to lucius while she goes to bother voldemort]  
>  **narcissa:** here, watch our son for a few hours while i convince our lord to let his son play with our son  
>  **lucius:** i'm stuck here for god knows how long, babyproofing this house by removing all the dangerous objects, and you want me to watch our son?  
>  **narcissa:** just sit in a safe room and play with him god it's not rocket science
>
>> all the death eaters trying to think of what to give harry, knowing full well that if they screw up, voldemort will reduce them to ashes for god knows how long.  
>  **voldemort to anyone who would listen to him, which is everyone because they have no choice but to listen to him:** my son likes dragons. (and snakes, because i like snakes which means he likes snakes.) but dragons, do you hear me? dragons.
> 
> * * *
> 
> find me & my writing updates on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing (and where i livewrote this story) [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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